


Right Swipe

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Airports, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Online Dating, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: Inspired by a tweet that read:"My flight was delayed 3 hours so I was doing what any human does when they're bored. Minding my own business swiping through Tinder & the guy behind me goes 'ouch hard no for that one?' And I turn around ONLY TO SEE THE MAN I JUST SWIPED NO ON BEHIND ME"Created at the suggestion of C and blue neck pillow added for A. Be gentle as I've never written anything rated E before, which will come as a complete shock to anyone who knows me.





	Right Swipe

He’s been trying to use his phone less, he really has. But when the flight status board flips from  _ On Time _ to  _ Now Departing in 1 Hour _ Armie mutters, “fuck this,” and makes for the nearest airport bar, where a stronger-than-expected gin and tonic has him swiping Tinder in less than ten minutes.

It’s not like he’s looking for someone to date here in...what fucking flyover town is he in again anyway? Armie squints at his ticket.  _ Cleveland _ . It’s not like he’s looking for someone to date here in Cleveland, but he’s been traveling so much for work lately that it can’t hurt to make some...connections. Ports in a storm, if you will, in case he needs a place to crash during some future layover. For the right guy, the layover could even be pre-arranged.

He swipes right on a couple of prospects with his preferred combination of excellent hair and aversion to commitment, and then his mouth quirks up in disbelief.  _ Is this kid serious? _ The profile pic shows a frilly shirt (Armie hates himself for recognizing it as Gucci) and a tangle of redwood curls falling into fern-colored eyes. The profile quotes Kid Cudi extensively and links to an Instagram full of nature and transportation from unusual angles.  _ This is a set of quirks disguised as a personality. Come on _ , Armie thinks, and swipes left. Hard. 

“That bad, huh?” The voice comes from Armie's left, from the next barstool. The voice is somehow knowing and innocent at the same time, hiding a giggle beneath the surface. And when Armie looks over to see who it belongs to, he meets strangely familiar green eyes and a mop of curls.

For a moment he's dumbstruck, looking between his phone screen and the guy next to him, processing that they are indeed  _ the same man _ , and yes, somehow the shirt the guy is wearing now is  _ worse _ , a white satin thing with buckles and flowers that looks like it took three assistants to get him into it. But the shirt assessment can come later, after Armie deals with the man next to him being the same man he'd just seen on Tinder. The man he'd just  _ rejected _ on Tinder. 

Although, now, realizing how those curls shine in the golden bar light, how bottomless those green eyes are once you're looking into them right in front of you, Armie can't for the life of him think  _ why _ he’d swiped left. 

“I can take criticism,” says that voice, that voice from somewhere ancient but mischievous, a joke in a funeral at  Père Lachaise. “What made you swipe left? I'll fix it for next time.”

“I--” Although Armie's been lying his whole life, in one way or another, the skill deserts him. “It seemed like an act. The frills and the hip-hop and the nature photos, no one's all that at once.”

“Well, I am.” It's said simply, directly, and the guy doesn't break eye contact, just extends a hand. “Timmy.”

“Armie.” At this point Armie's surprised his voice still works. Timmy's handshake is firm, warm. Armie's mind strays to other places as soon as they touch. 

“Come here often?” Combined with the cliché of the dating app he'd had open just a moment ago, it's too much, and Armie dissolves into laughter. Timmy smiles, and it’s both an understanding and an invitation. “Because I do. I live here, I'm fresh off a plane, and where I just came from there were no guys who look like you. Not even on Tinder.”

Armie tries to speak and finds that his tongue has grown three sizes too large for his mouth. 

“And since I live here,” Timmy continues, “I know this bar has a single-person bathroom that no one's gone into for the past 20 minutes.” There's suddenly a hand on his thigh, warm and familiar, and normally that would make Armie jump but it seems he's forgotten how to do that too. Armie blinks, and when he opens his eyes again he’s following Timmy, he’s already halfway down the hall, watching Timmy’s navy blue neck pillow bouncing from the strap of his backpack.

_ Thank god for the hipster bar trend _ , Armie thinks as Timmy locks the door behind them and Armie chucks his bag into a corner. It’s just a single room but for some reason there’s a chaise lounge in the corner, and Edison bulbs overhead, and a thick velvet curtain on the window. Timmy leans against the locked door, one hand on Armie’s waist, pulling him nearer, the other hand winding around Armie’s neck, and he just has time to think that the lighting makes Timmy’s eyes look even greener before Timmy’s lips are on his, and then Armie forgets how to think about anything at all.

Timmy presses against Armie so intensely Armie has to take a step back in surprise, and when he grabs Timmy to keep them upright his arm almost fully encircles Timmy’s waist. His other hand winds through Timmy’s hair, through those curls he’d sworn had to be photoshopped, and he gives up at trying to stay upright. One of Timmy’s feet is on top of his, and it’s sheer luck that when Armie takes a step backwards and then topples over with Timmy still in his arms, they’ve already crossed the tiny room and the chaise lounge in the corner is there to catch them. Timmy’s bag crashes to the ground as he brackets one of Armie’s legs with his own and he’s rock-hard already; Armie slides one of his hands between them and feels Timmy’s cock pulse in his hand.

Armie stretches out his leg, tries to press Timmy full length against him, and dimly hears a objecting clatter as his foot knocks against something at the end of the chaise. Timmy breaks into a giggle, higher and clearer than Armie would expect from the lustful rasp that had been in his ear a moment ago. “Trade me?” Timmy whispers with another breathy giggle, and Armie wraps one arm around Timmy’s ribcage and flips them over without losing contact with a single part of Timmy’s body.

When he has Timmy completely beneath him Armie realizes how many parts of Timmy are alive with desire, one of Timmy’s legs shuddering against him with the effort it takes not to wrap Armie completely in his long limbs, all of Timmy's elegant fingers scrabbling at his back, the touch dissolving into a caress when Timmy realizes Armie's not going  _ anywhere _ . Armie wraps his hand around Timmy's calf, presses Timmy's leg aside so that he's blanketing Timmy, leaving the fact of his erection unavoidable between them. “My bag. Inside pocket,” Timmy whines. If there's any doubt Armie will find condoms and lube there, it disappears once Timmy frantically tugs at his skinny jeans as soon as Armie rolls away to dig the items out of his bag. 

Armie finds what he needs exactly where Timmy says he will, and when he turns around he finds that Timmy's clothes have become a convenient pile on the floor and Timmy himself stretches fully naked on the chaise like something Schiele would have kept for his private collection. His skin is pale and elegant as a moonrise, except his cock which curves against his stomach, heavy and throbbing red with desire. Timmy catches Armie's gaze and holds it as he starts to stroke himself, his slit welling immediately with precome. At the sight, Armie can't help it: he dives for Timmy, buries his head in Timmy's lap, slides that long curved cock to the back of his throat in a single motion, and as Timmy's hands tangle in his hair Armie hears a soft chuckle from above him and Timmy's lust-choked voice murmuring, “See what you do to me?”

Armie doesn’t see it, but he feels it, feels Timmy’s heartbeat itself as Timmy’s cock throbs in his throat, circles the base of Timmy’s cock with his tongue as a sort of reward. He himself is rewarded with a bitten-off moan as Timmy tightens his fingers in Armie’s hair. He bumps Timmy’s cock against the back of his throat once, twice, and on the third time draws his tongue along the ridge on the underside as he draws his head upward and releases Timmy’s cock with a wet pop. He’s just brought his finger to Timmy’s hole with the lightest of touches when Timmy gives up stifling his moans and howls “ _ FUCK”  _ into the room so loudly Armie is sure a bartender will be back at any moment to see what’s going on.

It’s probably because Armie’s dominated people in the past that his next actions occur before he can even think about them. He just knows  _ noise brings people, can’t have that, not until I know how this fallen angel sounds when he cums _ , and he grabs the first thing he sees that’s soft enough not to hurt and it’s Timmy’s navy blue neck pillow, his apparent need to be pampered suddenly serving a practical purpose. “No, no, no,” Armie murmurs softly, but firmly, his past experience in this area taking over by instinct as he thrusts the pillow toward Timmy’s mouth, half-playfully at first. But Timmy bites into it fully, turning his head to wrest it from Armie’s grip, and once it rests on his shoulder he whimpers into it as Armie’s fingers grow bolder in their exploration.

He teases Timmy’s rim in a slow circle, lowering his mouth to lick the perimeter a single time before pressing inside, and when he raises his head Timmy’s jaw is positively vibrating from the pressure of his bite on the pillow. Timmy’s so hot and tight inside that Armie’s finger feels weightless and Armie knows he can’t wait any longer. Just then Timmy releases the pillow from his teeth, lets it flop forgotten onto the floor, and hisses, “inside me, now,” his eyes flying open, their forested green now tinged with yellow like a slow-burning field.

Armie rips the packet with his teeth, no time now to be polite, and rolls a condom on in what feels like less than a second. Timmy pulls his knees to his chest, one arm holding them there and one arm reaching for Armie, long fingers clutching air to say  _ closer, come closer _ , and when Armie lines up the head of his cock against Timmy’s rim Timmy hisses  _ all at once, wanna feel you in my fucking throat _ and Armie’s gone. He drives in once, as requested, until he bottoms out, and Timmy’s heat is so sudden and all-encompassing his dick feels like it’s on another planet. He feels Timmy clench once around him at the surprise of the entry and he huffs, grinning,  _ Timmy, that’s not helping _ and when Timmy does it again anyway Armie’s glad of the condom because otherwise he’d be finished in two minutes like a damn teenager. He stays fully inside Timmy for a full breath just because  _ who knows when I’ll feel this again after all, someone who feels like he was molded for me from the inside out _ , and then he gives a couple of slow thrusts to try and prolong the feeling.

Timmy chases him, rolling his hips to keep as much of Armie as possible inside him, grinning cheekily while he does it, and Armie barely has time to think  _ oh if that’s how it’s going to be _ before he’s thrusting hard, knocking Timmy back against the chaise lounge,  _ how the fuck is this kid so quiet now, when suddenly I’m the one who feels like screaming _ , and just as he increases his rhythm Timmy hisses, “pull out when you’re close, I wanna fucking see it,” and brings his hand to his own cock, moves it in time with Armie’s thrusts.

That’s more than Armie can take. He pulls out, watches the rosy ring of muscle flutter at the loss, rolls the condom off and tosses it onto the floor. He grips his cock in his hand firmly, though it’s still not as tight and warm as Timmy ( _ oh great, this guy’s ruined my own hand for me now, perfect _ ). He aims for Timmy’s chest and needs only two or three strokes before he’s crying Timmy’s name, cum dripping from his fingers onto the concave skin of Timmy’s abdomen, and at the first sight of it Timmy’s coming too, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, not even looking where his release lands but somehow it all ends up mixed together on his stomach in a pearlescent puddle. When Timmy opens his eyes and sees it he chuckles, drags his finger through it, brings it teasingly to his lips and paints a bit onto the tip of his tongue.

_ Where did you come from _ , Armie thinks, panting, thighs shaking in his comedown, and it’s only after Timmy says, “Your reject pile, apparently,” that Armie realizes he’s spoken aloud. He chuckles, so does Timmy, and he reaches quickly to wet some paper towels and hand them to Tim for the mess on his stomach.

“That’s going to itch later,” Armie murmurs apologetically, “no matter how well you clean it here.”

“I’ll just go home and clean up properly now. I do live here, remember?” Timmy plants a single kiss on Armie’s lips; is he crazy for thinking there’s a promise in it?

“In fact,” Timmy throws over his shoulder as he zips his jeans, “why don’t you come with me? You could probably use a shower yourself and--” he nods his head toward a clock over the door that Armie hadn’t seen, “looks like you just missed your flight. Need a place to crash for the night?”

As Armie follows him out the door he thinks getting stuck in Cleveland in the future might not be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
